"Now look here! Let's be reasonable. I don't want to be unfair to you, or to say anything a man isn't justified in saying to a woman. I'm willing to throw the whole blame on Hugh--" "I'm not," I declared, hotly. "That's generous; but I'm speaking of myself. I'm willing to throw the whole blame on Hugh, because he's my son. I'll absolve you, if you like, because you're a stranger and a girl, and consider you a victim--" "I'm not a victim," I insisted. "I'm only a human being, asking for a human being's rights." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, rights! Who knows what rights are?" "I do. That is," I corrected, "I know my own." "Oh, of course! One always knows one's own. One's own rights are everything one can get. Now you can't get Hugh; but you can get five thousand dollars. That's a lot of money. There are men all over the United States who'd cut off a hand for it. You won't have to cut off a hand. You only need to be a good, sensible little girl and--get out." Perhaps he thought I was yielding, for he tapped his side pocket as he went on speaking. "It won't take a minute. I've got a check-book here--a stroke of the pen--" My work was lying on the table a few inches away. Leaning forward deliberately I put it into the basket, which I tucked under my arm. I looked at Mrs. Brokenshire, who was leaning forward and looking at me. I inclined my head with a slight salutation, to which she did not respond, and turned away. Of him I took no notice. "So it's war." I was half-way to the dining-room when I heard him say that. As I paused to look back he was still sitting sidewise on the edge of the table, swinging a leg and staring after me. "No, sir," I said, quietly. "It takes two to fight, and I should never think of being one." "You know, of course, that I shall have no mercy on you." "No, sir; I don't." "Then you can know it now. I'm sorry for you; but I can't afford to spare you. Bigger things than you have come in my way--and have been blasted." Mrs. Brokenshire made a quick little movement behind his back. It told me nothing I understood then, though I was able to interpret it later. I could only say, in a voice that shook with the shaking of my whole body: "You couldn't blast me, sir, because--because--" "Yes? Because--what? I should like to know." There was a robin hopping on the lawn outside and I pointed to it. "You couldn't blast a little bird like that with a bombshell." "Oh, birds have been shot." "Yes, sir; with a fowling-piece; but not with a howitzer. The one is too big; the other is too small." I was about to drop him a little courtesy when I saw him wink. It was a grotesque, amusing wink that quivered and twisted till it finally closed the left eye. If he had been a less handsome man the effect would have been less absurd. I made my courtesy the deeper, bending my head and lowering my eyes so as to spare him the knowledge that I saw. CHAPTER III